


March of the Ardyns

by Starcrossedsky



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Multi, Other tags to be added, microfic collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:04:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starcrossedsky/pseuds/Starcrossedsky
Summary: 31 Ardyn-centric mircofics, mostly AUs, to celebrate the arrival of Episode Ardyn. Hopefully to be uploaded one a day throughout the month of March.Please see individual chapters for warnings/info.





	1. you are someone who ought to survive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scifi AU; Ardyn is (almost) the last survivor of a failed colony ship.
> 
> Contains mild suicidal ideation. Chapter title pulled from a Gurren Lagann episode title.

"One more time," you say, as much to the old machinery surrounding you as to the man resting within it. You pat a computer on its case as you settle back into your seat, resting long fingers on the numerous console buttons that take the place of your arm rests.

One more time. Ten years, you have been trying, hoping, that anyone else in the station would wake up. Ten years since you awoke in what should have been a crowd of people, but was instead a mausoleum, systems failing around you. There had been others then, that you hoped to wake -

Now it's down to just you and him. In a simulated dream, Noctis rests, unaware of the failing life support around his real body. The stasis program encountered its fatal error nine years, three hundred sixty four days, eighteen hours, and ten minutes ago.

Ten years, and the life support systems will give up, allowing him to pass silently from this world like all the rest.

You flick your fingers across the controls, across all the unauthorized access you've won yourself over the last ten years. This time, even the ship AI, IGNI5, goes into shutdown mode. Water processing, temperature stabilization... Air filtration.

If this doesn't work, after all, there's hardly any point.

"Once more into the breach, my dear," you say, to the young man who could be the spitting image of your brother. Somnus, the eerily fitting name for the first of the colony ship's population to pass in that long sleep. You wish your mother hadn't been such a prophet.

Voice controls are off, so you have to enter the commands manually, line by line, hoping against hope that this time, there will be enough brain activity to trigger the rest of the awakening process. That the power supply will hold out long enough, this far from any particular star, alone out in the dark.

When you're done, you hit execute and turn off the screens around you, as well. Only blackness and a single screen of vital signs remain.

You close your eyes, and wait.


	2. the sense of wonder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonbased AU; the Oracle isn't able to fix Noctis' injuries, so Ardyn is forced to take things into his own hands.
> 
> Title from Gurren Lagann Parallel Works.

_Do you hate your cage yet, little prince?_ you think to yourself, standing on a roof to overlook the Citadel - the sort of place that no one bothers to look for you, to look for anyone, because who could get up there?

(They're your favorite places for a reason.)

In the courtyard, the Prince sits with a handful of adult minders and his teenaged Hand hovering behind his wheelchair. It would be so _easy_ to just throw a blade and end the whole charade...

You turn away, with a sigh that doesn't express what you're really feeling (anger, always anger). The Chosen King, naught but a child, and already broken.

And after you had made it so clear to Niflheim's finest that the boy was off limits, that he was _yours alone_. Even the hands of the Oracle weren't enough to restore the boy to full use of his legs - just enough to pry the daemon-taint of the Scourge out of him, as though the gods would have ever allowed it to take hold.

Down below, the boy's advisor turns to wheel him into the Citadel proper, up along the ramp that even after nearly two years still looks hastily constructed compared to the rest of the building's impressive entrance. Noctis appears to huff and puts his hands to the wheels, rolling up the stairs under his own power.

Still some spirit, then. Pity that spirit won't be enough.

You hate cleaning up other people's messes.

\----

_Under the cover of the resort roof, a man waits, flipping a coin idly. A prince arrives, the dust of the road still fresh under his boots, and steps past his retainers._

_Standing once more on his own feet, he greets the man as an old friend. And so it is that, for the first time, the man of no consequence is not forgotten._


	3. keys to the kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Prey_ AU; title is from one of the main storyline quests. Contains uh, massive spoilers for Prey's ending, if you haven't gotten there. tldr orbital space station has a containment breach of the aliens they're studying, which then proceed to try to kill everyone on board.
> 
> For Sera; happy (now slightly after) birthday, this is all your fault.

Another shotgun round fired, the Phantom jerking back but not quite dead, and you have to reload - 

Somnus, still talking in your ear, _Is it really worth it, Ardyn? Is the research worth endangering the lives of everyone on Earth?_

You fire again. The Phantom shrieks and collapses.

Now the Operator is talking to you, with your own voice, and you have only yourself to blame for how much you like hearing yourself talk - _He still doesn't get it, doesn't he? Little brother was always a little slow. It's not about the research._

You know the next words before they're even spoken, even if you don't remember, if endless cycles of modification have stripped away your memory of programming the damn thing.

_It's about the lives of the innocent people caught in the middle._

Most of whom are already dead, but Gilgamesh's group in the Cargo Bay, Besithia and Aera sealed up in your office - 

If it was just you and your brother (alright, and maybe Verstael Besithia, you don't need to tell anyone that), you'd hand over your Arming Key without a second thought. But - 

(You duck under a writhing tendril and throw a Recycler Charge into the 'face' of a Weaver as you go.)

\- it's for those you can yet save.

Somnus has started talking again. You duck under an abandoned desk long enough to activate your mike. Your voice is creaky from disuse, sounds just a little wrong to even your own ears - 

"Brother, dear, do shut up."

It's enough to buy you a few minutes of precious silence from the station's king up on his throne, at least.

\----

And when you wake up - 

"This is the first time one of them has spoken to me," your brother is saying, to a remote viewing Operator with a familiar security icon.

"It's the first time one of them has spoken at all," says a research Operator, in Besithia's voice, and Somnus just turns to give the robotic representation a look.

"He's awake, you know," comes Aera's voice, from a third Operator behind Somnus. All of them turn, regarding you.

For a moment, Somnus is the little brother you remember, wearing a smile that isn't a smirk and he offers you a hand. "Welcome back," he says.

You stare at his hand for a long moment, and then, with a hand that forms out of a twist of black tendrils, lightly smack it away. You've had more than enough of his bullshit.

Somnus looks startled for a moment, then chuckles, withdrawing his hand. "Fair enough," he says. "Come on, we have work to do."


	4. remember the name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulmate AU; soul marks appear when the younger soulmate is born, and enable the "write back and forth with a pen" trope.
> 
> i'm a filthy ardnoct don't judge me

You never expected to feel this sensation again.

_You couldn't even consciously call up the memory, of being five years old when a mark burned its way into your skin -_

But there it is, a soulmate's mark on your left wrist, shiny metallic black below Aera's long-faded one. It still stings faintly when you press a finger into it in disbelief, feeling the chillness of the marked skin in comparison. Unlike Aera's, this time the abstract design looks nothing like a flower; if you squint, it might be evocative of a pair of folded wings.

You squint at it some more before dropping your sleeve back over the fresh mark in disgust. Whatever infant has just been born, it hardly matters. You have no intention of seeking out another soulmate, whoever they might be.

It doesn't matter. You won't allow it to.

\----

The next morning, the Lucian government announces the live, healthy birth of the next heir to the throne, Noctis Lucis Caelum. 

You don't even bother to calculate the time of birth to Gralea's local timezone. You glare at the headline and throw the newspaper across your desk in disgust, as though that will change the mark in your skin.

Is it the gods or simply fate with such a loathsome sense of humor? There is nothing you could desire from a scion of your brother's traitorous line, no power or wish in the world that he could grant you that would make him anything but one of the usurper's descendants first. Certainly, nothing that could fit into the broken pieces of you that are left behind.

(Daemons do not have soulmates. The mark of one taken by the Scourge does not fade, but become as a twisted, raised scar, the actual mark impossible to make out.)

(It is how your brother knew, you are sure. Aera hated anything that covered her wrists.)

What point is there in this final cruel irony, unless...

Thoughtful, you take up the paper again, but only to use it as scrap to test a pen. And in handwriting quite a bit larger than normal - it needs be legible on the arm of an infant, after all - you write - 

_Do take care of him for me, Majesty._

And then you lean back in your chair, satisfied, whilst in distant Insomnia, the Chosen King starts to cry.


	5. like clockwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canonbased AU; ancient Solheim automata Ardyn. FFXV creative haven made mention of "MT Ardyn" and I ran with it.

What Niflheim discovered in the depths of Angelgard was no mortal man.

Indeed, it had never been human at all.

Gears, unused in millenia, and bearings greased with the fluid of the Scourge begin to move, as the automaton lifts its head. Its face has peeled away, leaving nothing but bare metal and staring eyes, but the researcher in charge of the expedition still sucks in a breath at the sight.

"And what do we have here?" says Verstael Besithia, as the remnant of Solheim watches him with eyes of gold entombed in glass - the only part of him not corroded beyond recognition.

\----

Once, the noble children of Solheim were given built companions - mentors, caretakers, to mind over them while their parents went to war. 

And it was only fitting that the child of the bloodline chosen to rule be given a companion that was even further special, was it not? Such was the thought of the people when the gods themselves imbued young Somnus' companion with the reason and emotion and _compassion_ of a true living being.

Perhaps they did their jobs too well. Or perhaps that was what was always meant to be, the purpose for which 'Ardyn' was made.

(The Starscourge is not only an illness of the body, it is an illness of the soul.)

(What becomes when that soul is within a body that cannot be twisted into a daemon, a body made of metal and ceramic and glass?)

(Somnus cut out the disease without mercy. _Wherever_ he found it.)

\----

"They're not as smart as you, I would hope," says Besithia, as you slide your hands down the mask of the first of these soldiers, these 'MTs,' that you have designed for him. Your fingers are softer than ever before, with this new age's silicone materials, and more sensitive as well. You can hardly stop from running them over things in wonder.

"Of course not," you say. "I am, after all, splendid and unique."

A gift of the gods to their Chosen, now abandoned and thrown aside like so much trash. The MT's helmet is polished to a shine, almost mirrorlike, and you smile at the face you see in it, a twisted mirror to Somnus' with your own golden eyes half-hidden under false hair the color of blood.

You were designed to care for not only Somnus, but his children and children's children, perhaps unto eternity. And care for them you certainly shall.

After all, cutting off a diseased limb is an act of love, isn't it, Somnus?


	6. if you get only one thing right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> make it this.
> 
> Trans!Ardyn: Ancient History edition, and thus could be considered a prequel of sorts to [this.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658077)

Your first memory of Somnus isn't when he was born; with only three years separating you, you were too young to remember that. Your first memory of Somnus actually has very little to do with Somnus at all - 

It's a memory of tugging on your mother's clothes and asking, "Mother, why can't I wear clothes like that?"

\----

You grew like a weed, soon towering over your little brother (who was the heir, and so of course was your parents' darling). You stuck out among the other girls, disdaining the company of all save the young heiress of the Fleuret family. Even younger than Somnus, but Aera had as much instinct for trouble as you did, and the two of you climbed up into places you weren't supposed to be constantly.

And for years - for enough years that you were soon to be introduced to society as a young woman, that your parents were talking about marriage in ways you didn't want to hear - things were fine.

Until one day, you stopped, and you realized - your little brother wasn't so little any more. He was taller than you, and growing still, where you had stalled out - taller than the other girls your age, yes, but still smaller than most of the men in your family.

It must have shown on your face, because Somnus stopped mid-sentence and, with all the grace of a sixteen-year-old boy, said, "Sister? What's wrong?"

That was enough. Some floodgate opened and pushed the tears out, and before you know it, you're sniffling and sobbing into your little brother's shoulder as he wraps his arms around you. 

"You're so tall," you manage to sob out, and it sounds like the stupidest thing in the world, but you don't know what else to say.

\----

Somnus was the first person you told, and he was the one who helped you into men's clothes, pulled things out of his own wardrobe for you before you could face your parents. Helped you find the magic that gave you more height, and muscle, and hair - 

Laughed and rolled his eyes when you passed by him again, clapping you on the shoulder. "You really can't let me forget I'm the _little_ brother, can you?"

"Not a chance," you replied, still pleased at the depth of your voice, and swung your arm over his shoulders.

\----

When the gods chose you for the throne, it felt, finally, like acknowledgement. Like someone other than your brother and Aera saw you.

That's why you can never forgive him.


	7. so this is how we end up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Ardyn wins?
> 
> Probably not what anyone, including Ardyn himself, was expecting.

And in the end, it was all for nothing.

Noctis lies before you, bright red on a black shirt on a black street beneath a black sky, and you should feel some satisfaction in your victory, in bringing all to bear and proving yourself better than all your brother's line had to offer.

Instead, you see eternity stretching out before you, and you just feel tired.

(You don't even see Somnus in his face anymore. The rough growth of facial hair breaks up the similarity in his jaw, and the way his hair falls over his face is more like yours than your brother's.)

"What to do, what to do," you muse out loud to yourself, standing over him, as a first handful of drops fall from the darkened sky. "Your retainers will be here soon, you know. As soon as they realize that the throne room is no true place for a battle."

Noctis, of course, doesn't answer. A raindrop falls just perfectly onto his face that it rolls down his cheek like a tear. It is perfectly, atrociously poetic.

"I suppose there is a reason I still keep a few of these around," you mutter, flicking a Phoenix Down into your fingers from your Armiger. It's a practiced sleight of hand that draws attention away from the sparkle by hiding it in your sleeve, not that such serves any purpose now.

You leave the crushed feather in Noctis' hand, watching the warmth flow over him, and as he starts to cough around the healing and rainwater, you warp away into some distant alley.

\----

He comes to find you, because of course he does. The boy could never leave well enough alone.

You lean against a dead tree as though it offers shelter from the steady rain and regard him, all the signs and dignity of his kingship stripped away. You know the question behind those blue eyes even before he speaks it.

"Revenge not all it's cracked up to be?" he asks, and you can't hear Somnus in his voice, either, not when he speaks like that, so casual and just edging around the point, where your brother was so formal and direct you could cut yourself on his words alone.

No, you can't see Somnus in him any longer. You look away, under the pretense of surveying the city, your city, his city.

"I've had my revenge," you say, waving a hand at the ruined city about you. "This was to be our end. Close the book on the entire sordid tale."

And in the end, it truly is all the world that let you down.

Footsteps. You don't bother to look at Noctis - if he drew a blade on you, struck for a sneak attack, that would be all well and good in your opinion. But there's no sound of a weapon drawn as he comes to stand next to you, in the shadow of dead and dripping tree branches.

Your hand is still outstretched, and he takes it in his. And when you overcome your momentary shock enough to look at him - 

(he doesn't look like somnus. he looks like - like the brother who would be a healer, not a general.)

"It's not too late to change the ending," he says. 

And for a moment, you wish - 

You pull your hand out of his grip, and he lets it go. "It became too late for me a long time ago, Noctis," you say, and for once there is no hint of mocking on your use of his name. You do not feel the need to spit it, either. 

"But I appreciate the thought."


End file.
